The Eagle And The Nightingales

keep an eye out for Free Bards and help them when he could.

That in itself was either an example of how small a world it truly was_or that there was something in the way of Fate dogging her footsteps.

The convoluted twists that this little mission of hers was taking were beginning to make her head spin.

For the meantime, however, Father Ruthvere was an ally she was only too glad to have found. He was one of the faction that followed the 'we are all brothers' faith, and that made him doubly valuable to her, and vice versa. He knew what was going on, to a limited extent, within the Church_she had her information from the street and the Court. Together they found they could put together some interesting wholes out of bits and pieces.

Maddy and her crew hadn't come up with anything either, though as usual they were glad enough for her bag of leftovers and the pennies she gave them all. The only thing that one of the boys knew was that his brother had actually seen the horseless wagon on its way to the Palace. It had not been pulled or pushed by any beasts, and from the description, it could have been the wagon that Harperus used.

But then again, she thought to herself, as she scrambled up the staircase, wouldn't any Deliambren wagon look like any other? I don't know for a fact that Harperus is the only one traveling about the countryside.

But would any other Deliambren have a Haspur with him?

She slipped down the hall, making certain first that there was no one around to catch her in her Tanager disguise, then unlocked the door to her room and whisked inside.

'I don't even know that it's a Haspur,' she told herself, thinking out loud. 'There is more than one bird-race, and most of them would match the description that girl gave. It could be anyone. In fact, it's just not likely that it's Harperus and T'fyrr.'

But as she changed out of her Tanager clothing and headed for the bathroom for a needed sluicing, she couldn't help but think that_given the way that things were going_the fact it wasn't likely was the very reason why it would turn out to be her friends.

She drifted down the stairs in one of her rainbow-skirts; the blue one this time. Today, Lyrebird was in a casual mood and had dressed accordingly.

Actually, today Lyrebird was ravenous and wanted to be able to eat without worrying about delicate dagging and fragile lace. She had missed her lunch in order to fit in a stop at Father Ruthvere's Chapel, and she'd given all those leftovers to the children without saving even a roll for herself.

Not that she had been hungry enough for stale rolls and stringy beef. Her stay here had spoiled her; there had been plenty of times when those leftovers would have been a feast.

Well, plenty of times in the long past, when she was between villages and her provisions had run out, maybe. Nightingale had never been so poor a musician that she'd had to sing for leftovers.

This hour was too late for lunch and a bit too early for dinner. Only a few of the eating nooks were open and operating, and all of those were on the ground floor. Lyrebird went to one of her favorites, where the cook was a merry little man with no use of his lower limbs because of an illness as a child. Not that he let it get in the way of his work; he was a cook, after all, and he didn't need to move much. He plied his trade very well from a stationary seat within a half-circle of round-bottomed pans, all heated on Deliambren braziers to the sizzling point. You picked out what you wanted from a series of bins of fresh vegetables, and strips of fowl, fish and meat in bowls sunk in ice, and brought it to him in your bowl; he would quick-fry it in a bit of oil, spice it according to your taste, and serve it all to you on a bed of rice, scooped out of the huge steamer behind him. If he wasn't busy, he was always happy to talk.

Nightingale was always happy to talk to him, and this time of day she was often his only customer.

'Well, Lyrebird, you're eating like a bird indeed today_twice your weight in food! You're eating like dear little Violetta!'

He winked at that; most of the staff found Violetta amusing. The name was female, and surely the little misfit dressed like a woman, but there wasn't a person on the staff who was fooled.

No matter. Freehold was full of misfits, and if 'Violetta' wanted to dress in fantastic gowns and gossip like one of the serving-wenches, no one here would ever let 'her' know that they had seen past the disguise.

'Skip your breakfast?' Derfan asked, eyeing the size of the bowl she had picked up at the start of the bins.

'And lunch,' she confirmed, bringing him her selection and taking a seat on one of the stools nearby to watch him work. He had the most amazingly quick hands; she would have scorched everything, or herself, but Derfan never spoiled a meal that she had ever heard. And he never once burned himself, either.

He pursed his lips and shook his head at her. 'That's very bad of you. You'll do yourself harm if you make that